The Funeral
by High Mage Lady Hawkmoon
Summary: My interpretation of what goes on the morning of Johnny Gat's funeral, from the Boss' perspective. Rated M for language and adult situations.


**AN: Thanks to MDGeistMD02 for letting me blatantly steal his boss character. His Boss is a woman of Chinese American heritage. And he kindly allows me to do with her as I wish, mostly.**

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><p><strong>Steelport – 8 am<strong>

The alarm let out an ear piercing screech. A woman's arm reached out and slapped ineffectually at it a few times. After a few more tries to quiet the noise, the woman finally sat up in bed, grabbed the alarm, pulled the cord out of the wall and threw the clock across the room. She grunted in satisfaction as the clock hit the wall and exploded into a million pieces.

The woman heard a muffled groan. She looked back across the landscape of the king sized bed and saw at least three, possibly four more people in the bed with her. She ran her fingers though her purple and black hair and realized that getting totally hammered and having a ménage de however-the-fuck-many-were-in-this-bed could not erase the fact that today was Johnny's funeral.

At the depressing thought, she climbed out of bed. She grabbed the sheet and yanked it off the pile of people.

"Alright, kiddies," she yelled, "Party's over! Everyone outta the pool!" In a chorus of grumbles and mumbles, three strippers and two gang members left the bed and the room. She locked the door and wandered into the bathroom.

As she prepared her shower, she thought about Johnny. The first time they met was on the day she was canonized. He was all mouth and attitude. He set the bar that she strove for; she wanted people to talk about her with the same awe and respect.

She stepped into the shower and remembered the day they had taken down the Vice Kings. She still laughed over the look on his face the first time she said something to him. She hadn't said much back then.

She shampooed her hair and flashed to the day she broke him out of the courtroom. She had almost lost him that day. She had been so happy to see him, so happy that he was still all mouth and attitude. She had gotten him out of there and they were together again. They would rebuild the Saints and take back their city.

Then there was the day that Aish died and Johnny got stabbed. She thought for a moment that he had been killed too. The relief she felt when she saw he was still alive had brought her to her knees. The trip to the ER had taken forever and the Ronin trying to stop them seemed endless. But she had saved him.

The sobbing she heard brought her back to the present. It took a moment for her to realize it came from her. The pain caused her to double over. She wrapped her arms around her waist to try to ease the ache. Still the sobs came; her tears mixing with the water from the shower.

As the water turned cooler, the sobs eased. She turned her face to the cold water and washed away her tears. Her pain became anger; anger as icy as the water.

She turned off the water and scrubbed herself dry with a dark purple bath sheet. She stalked out to the walk-in closet and she started getting dressed. She slid into white lace boy-cut panties and matching push-up bra. She smoothed pale lavender silk stockings up her legs and hooked them to the white lace garter. She then slipped into a white silk kimono to do her hair and makeup.

After she dried her hair and twisted it up into a bun, she carefully painted her face. When she was done she looked at her reflection and said, "You were right, Johnny. We became media whores and I'm sorry. I love you, you were my best friend. It will never be the same now that you are gone."

She got up, finished dressing in her tailored snow white silk suit. She grabbed her white trench coat and stepped out of her bedroom. She met Pierce and Shaundi in the main room and led the Saints to the funeral of the greatest Saint of them all.

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><p><strong>Shanghai – 3pm<strong>

The TV droned on in the tiny hotel room. On the coffee table next to it was a duffel bag with a stash of cash and a couple of pistols. A man wearing only a pair of well worn jeans stepped out of the bathroom and ran a hand across his newly sheared hair. He walked over to the coffee maker just as a news program started about a new bridge in Steelport. He poured himself a cup of coffee and turned back to watch the story. He could see a long line of traffic on the bridge, mostly purple cars led by a hearse.

He raised his cup, saluted the TV and said, "Sorry, I had to miss my own funeral, Boss; but we're done here." He then turned off the TV cutting Monica Hughes' exclamation short.


End file.
